The Fourth One
by SpinoGuy Productions
Summary: Hey, it's technically a title. Alright, for the summary... I got nothing. Just read the story, it might explain something. But, Hotty has returned. Can Deadpool survive once again?


_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap._

**Please stop tapping.**

"Why?"

**It's annoying.**

_You're annoying!_

**To you.**

Ugggh. Again with these two! As if I don't have enough problems dealing with voices in my head, now they're fighting! Again! Well, I bet you're wondering what I'm doing, huh? Once again, a whole lotta nothing. It's been about… six months? Yeah, six months. How's it been? I bet you're wondering why Spino isn't updating Killing Season instead of making another one-shot. The answer is, go fuck yourself.

**Should we really be talking to our readers like that?**

_Why not? It's not like they know us or anything._

**No, but they might get offended and not read our stories.**

The only stories that matter is ours. To be fair, he and icey should probably be working on that collab of theirs, featuring yours truly.

_Don't forget Kenshi!_

**Who?**

Blind guy from Mortal Kombat. Doesn't matter. Either way, I'm in it. Again, that's all that matters is I'm in it. So, right now, I'm sitting in my crappy apartment, scratching my dog's ear. Yeah, I got a dog, so what?

**I personally believe no animal should be subject to your house sitting.**

True. Anyway, Boomer here just showed up at my doorstep. So, being the Good Samaritan that I am, decided to take him in. Hey, you know what's awesome?

_What?_

We haven't seen that Hotty chick since—Yeah, you know it's coming.

"WADE!"

Of course.

**Why do we even bother?**

_We're optimistic._

**What the hell does that even mean?**

_I dunno. Ask Spino._

**You know, he's been absent from our stories. Hasn't appeared since "**_**Still don't have a title. Just keep rolling with it."**_

_What do ya think this one's gonna be call._

**I have absolutely no idea.**

Guys, we should probably focus on the real problem at hand. Like the little slut at our doorstep. I look over at said door to see the hot, but stupid, Hotty Humpsalot. Betcha just missed her, didn't ya?

"Wade, I'm lonely. Give me attention."

I change the channel on my TV. Now a special on Batman's 75th anniversary. That's nice. I tell her without looking up, "That's nice."

I sense her blank stare at my face. "What?"

"I said, 'That's nice.' Do you speaking English," I ask.

"Yeah, it's just… You usually yell at me to leave. What's the deal?"

I just shrug in response. "I'm just sick of killing you repeatedly. Now I know how Wolverine feels."

"B-But you have to kill me. It's tradition!"

"So is watching a Christmas Story. Now, if you could please leave."

"NO! Not until you kill me!

Ugh. Brattiest person I know. Except Rouge. Difference is, I would plow that girl all night long. Just think of that girl gives me the shivers. Hotty on the other hand, is still that annoying little brat from before. Without responding to her, I pick up a phone and speak into it. "Pizza Hut? Yeah, I'd like two dozen large pizzas with everything on 'em. Don't worry, I'll still pay you the full amount that I owe when you get here a half hour late. Thanks, babye."

I hang up, and look at the disgusting excuse for a… thing. "Shouldn't you be leaving?" I ask.

She charges me with all her might, a ferocious snarl escaping her lips. I barely manage an, "Eep," before she tackles me to the ground. I shield my face as she pummels me. Who knew a girl that skinny would be so strong.

**Every man known to… well, man.**

_I mean, look at Rouge. Please do, we haven't seen her in a while._

Noted. Anyways, I kick her off of me. I brandish a knife and stab it into her gut. This doesn't do anything, I guess, since she is still trashing around. She pulls out the knife and throws it at me with deadly accuracy. It's a good thing I can heal, otherwise this knife in my head would hurt like a bitch. So, I pulled out a couple AKs and start shooting. Several bullet hit her, but the majority of them just miss. I mean, I'm not really aiming, but still.

She basks and weaves through the barrage, and punches me in the gut. I feel the air knocked out of me, and a couple ribs break. I repay the favor by breaking her face with the butt of my gun. She staggers back holding her face, but I don't give her the chance to recover. I just take out another knife and stab it into her chest repeatedly, making sure to cop a couple feels along the way. What? Have you _seen_ her chest? It's huge. Maybe if she just had a personality I'd plow her, but ya know. She's disgusting.

After the twelth stab, I leave it inside her (_That's what she said!)_ and roundhouse kick her in the face. She falls to the floor, falling face down. She looks up at me with murder in her eyes. Seriously, why is this chick so angry that I don't want to kill her this time? I mean, I'm starting to feel like doing it, but come one. Any sane person would've realized that this was being plain old retarded. Yeah, I said it. Whatcha gonna do about it?

She jumps at my face, clawing at my eyes. Shit, she's clawed out the right eye! Now I'm nothing but a Deathstroke clone!

**You weren't already?**

Shut up. I take out a pistol and fired a couple rounds in her face. I really hope it hurts. She dropped to the floor, but she still wasn't dead. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I shout. "HOW ARE YOU STILL BREATHING?! WITH NO HOLES IN YOUR FACE?!"

She, for some reason, doesn't give an answer. She does brandish a rubber chicken and start beating me with it. It doesn't do much, as I just stand there. I looked down at her, asking, "Please stop." She continues. "Its rubber, it doesn't hurt." She continues. "It doesn't even tickle." She continues. "Just stop." She—You get the idea, alright? I grab the rubber chicken and smack her in the face with it.

As she turns back around, I take a grenade off my belt and shove it down her throat. I pulled my hand back out, twirling the pin. I smile smugly. "Let's see if that works."

Her upper half explodes in a fountain of gore, dyeing my suit redder than it already it. Somehow, just roll with it. I look down at the lower half. What do we do with it?

**You do know that, whatever we do with it, she will come back, right?**

I know, but maybe burning it will work.

_How do we burn it?_

Hey, I thought of it, I'm not doing all of the work.

**Technically…**

Don't bring technicalities around me, son. I am the King of Technically. And, technically, we're different people. So, think of something smart, whitey.

**You are an idiot.**

_I thought I was the idiot in this group?_

You are, but that doesn't make me not stupid. I'm just a happy medium.

**Back to the subject at hand, how do we burn the body? I don't think our furnace will fit an ass that big.**

_It's bigger than Kim Khardashian's, or however it's spelt. There's not enough care for her in Spino's cold heart to care how it's spelt. How did she get famous anyway?_

Some really bad sex tape. I've seen it, nothing to get worked up over. How about throwing her into a smoke stack?

**Can you fly?**

Well, no, but I know quite a few people that can fly. Like Angel and Superman.

**We're Marvel, not DC.**

I know, but I'm a close friend of the Boy Scout. He'll do anything I ask him as long as I flash him some blue kryptonite.

_Isn't that Evil Superman's weakness?_

**Yes, but it makes our Supes stronger as well. Again, I'm not sure, the author didn't look it up.**

Which is exactly why we need to find out another way to get rid of her.

**There was no segue into that, was there?**

No. But, I'm thinking a lighter, gasoline, and some fireworks. Sound good?

_Oooh, fireworks!_

**What do fireworks have to do with anything?**

Oh, you'll see.

"Wade, why did you drag me here?"

Good ol' Taskmaster was standing to my left, taping his foot impatiently. At his waist was his awesome broadsword, with his Captain America rip off shield on his back. His skull mask was on his face, hiding his hideous features from the world.

_Like we're ones to talk._

Doesn't matter. I finish up hooking the explosives to the lower half of Hotty's body. I finally answer. "You see, for the past year, I've had a pest control. And, I need to get rid of it before next year comes around."

"I've never heard you complain about some pest problem."

"That's because it wasn't as prevelant in the past. But this is the _third time._ I need to make sure she stays dead this time."

"Why do you—Did you say 'she?'"

I nod my head violently.

_That's what she said!_

**Not now.**

I say, "Her name was Hotty Humpsalot. I have no idea why her parents named her that, but that's neither here nor there." He step back, Tasky following my moves. I pull out the match, but it takes a couple tries before a fire is lit. "What is here and there is the burning of this body."

"That still doesn't explain why I'm here."

I toss the matches behind me, expertly hitting the fuse. "I need to take a…" I wipe out my phone, put an arm around Tasky's shoulder, and take a picture as the fireworks go off.

"SELFIE!"

After that's done, Taskmaster has his face in his palm, true Picard style, and shook his head. He mumbles, "Why am I friends with you?"

"I don't know." I clap my hands together and look around. "Alright, I think that's good." I wave him along. "You can go now."

After glaring at me for a solid minute, he leaves. I stand there, observing the fireworks. You know, this meeting wasn't all that bad, really. I mean, the bitch barely had a line throughout the entire thing.

_That's pretty fun, right?_

**How?**

_I'm an idiot, remember? I'm not supposed to know what I'm talking about._

**You are right about one thing.**

You are an idiot.

_Thanks._

… Anyway, I think that we did pretty well today, don't you?

**Killed our psycho fangirl, took a selfie with Taskmaster, and continued to talk to ourselves. That's a pretty good day in my book.**

You know, I don't know why we always claim nothing is going on. When that happens, that bitch always comes along to annoy us.

_So, are we done here?_

**Yes, please let us be done. I want to go to bed.**

Alright, alright. Guess this is the end of the road. Wait, what's this? I pick up a big sheet of papers. I observe the cover that read _I've Finally Found a Title! _Huh. Well, guess we'll be seeing ya real soon.

DEADPOOL, OUT!


End file.
